


The Man Who Built Cities

by QueanBysshe



Series: Multiverse Wanderers [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anachronism, Fix-It, Friendship, M/M, Mindless self-indulgence, Older main character, Redemption, Vignettes, Warden as inquisitor, i'm working through some family stuff by writing this, lots of ethical discussions, revolution through civil engineering, transman main character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-10-20 08:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17618906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueanBysshe/pseuds/QueanBysshe
Summary: Companion piece to The Man From Elsewhere. Tristan's roommate, Dr Jaris Mews, has his own adventure, and befriends a grieving father, the leader of a revolution, and maybe even a prodigal son.





	1. The Magister

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Man From Elsewhere](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16885281) by [QueanBysshe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueanBysshe/pseuds/QueanBysshe). 



> Jaris' PhD is in Civil Engineering. He _haaaates_ that it's called that, and refers to himself as an 'architect'.

Jaris assessed the buildings where he was, and asked directions to the nearest books on history and architecture. Once he got to the library, he found a librarian (who was wearing robes) and, with their help, covered a table in books and notebooks, methodically going through the books on history and architecture, quickly filling his brand new notebook with notes and sketches, and finding a city map, copying it out into his neglected lab notebook. He moved on to economics after that, and it was sunset when he found someone standing patiently at the table, looking over the books he had spread out, the plans, some of them his own sketches, by now, as he’d found it necessary to tear out pages in his sketchbook to compare sketches side by side.

‘This is very impressive,’ said the man, who was perhaps a little older than Jaris, but not much; likely, however, he, like most people, thought Jaris to be in his twenties. ‘What are you working on?’

Jaris was surprised; _what do you do?_ was what most people asked Jaris. Nobody asked ‘what are you working on’ unless they were another academic, or another engineer (though Jaris detested the term ‘civil engineer’, as much as he detested how airy-fairy architects were; still, he considered himself an architect—a _proper_ one, thank you _very_ much).

‘Proposal for the city government on improvements to physical infrastructure,’ Jaris said, not looking up. ‘It’s what I do when I arrive in a new town. There’s always something I can fix.’

The man laughed. ‘You are audacious, I like that,’ he said. ‘I’m Magister Pavus.’

Magister was a Title, and Jaris looked up, giving the man a little respect, but perhaps not what he felt was his due; how he reacted to Jaris refusing to interrupt his work, however, would tell Jaris how to deal with him. ‘Jaris Mews. Are you part of the city government?’

‘Something like that,’ Pavus said, amusement in his dark eyes. ‘They tell me you’ve been here all day, without eating. Come, have dinner with me.’

Jaris started putting sticky notes to mark his places in books, closing them one by one. He knew from the reactions of the staff here that his collection of sticky notes and marker flags was unusual and revolutionary—Jaris hoped they would come up with some version of their own, because really, sticky notes were a studying _necessity_. Colour-coding was a must. He wondered if he would be allowed to remove books from the library, but a part of him felt very strongly that it wasn’t that kind of library. He would have to come back tomorrow, then. He put his papers in folders and tidily packed up. Tidy studying, tidy mind, tidy recollection, was his philosophy. A place for everything, and everything in it. He felt satisfied, felt his brain switching gears as he finished the ritual of tidying up, shouldering his bag and making sure the strap was tight.

‘Dinner sounds lovely, thanks for waiting,’ he said. ‘Do you have a first name, or am I just supposed to call you, like, “Your Grace” or something?’

He chuckled. ‘You must be from very far out of town,’ he said, ‘Lord Pavus will do. I suppose, from your sketches, you are some kind of mage?’

‘Yes,’ Jaris said, because agreeing was his default, when people asked him if he was something or other powerful. ‘But I think magic should be used for practical purposes. None of this foolish…’ he gesticulated as they walked, ‘you know, “Flash! Bang!” nonsense.’

Jaris continued making Lord Pavus laugh, all through dinner, as they spoke of magic, and the city, and Jaris’ ideas. Jaris had a lot of ideas. Lord Pavus asked him to stay ‘for the Season’, wanting to give Jaris connection to the Magisterium, which would help him petition for the changes he was suggesting.

Jaris woke up the next morning to what was clearly an elf slave—a very pretty one—setting out his breakfast. Jaris had not missed the presence of slavery, but he was experienced enough with blending in to not react, or comment. His own ethical concerns needed more context to be communicated, and his own needs came first—right now, his basic needs were not met, and he needed to _get_ them met, before he could address higher aspects of his being.

He could, however, as always, be compassionate to the service workers. ‘Good morning,’ he said, ‘what time is it?’

‘The sun’s been up for four hours, ser,’ the elf said, ‘Lord Pavus thought you would want breakfast sent up.’

‘Thank you,’ Jaris said, hesitant to leave the bed; Lord Pavus was tolerable enough company, even pleasant, but he’d indicated in some of his manner of speech that he was, perhaps, not respectful of certain aspects of Jaris’ being, some of which were obvious on his torso. ‘Is there a robe I can slip into?’

The elf went out of sight (not hard; the bed had curtains, and Jaris had only left the ones at the foot of the bed open), returning to Jaris’ bedside with a robe, parting the curtain without looking and offering it. It was comfortingly heavy brocade, but lined in satiny silk that made Jaris gasp and hum, rubbing his face against it in pleasure. ‘Mmmm thank you.’ He slipped it on best he could, the bed’s ropes squeaking a little below him, and, adjusting it so it wouldn’t reveal the scar across his chest, he finally slipped out of bed, instinctively putting his pillows back to rights and starting to pull the bedclothes up.

‘Oh, ser, there’s no need for that, I will do it.’

‘I—oh, whoops!’ Jaris said, laughing. ‘My bad. What’re you called?’

‘Seren, ser.’

‘Seren. Good to meet you. Are you like, assigned to me, while I’m staying here?’

‘Yes, ser.’

‘I’m assuming you’re obligated to inform to your Lord, so I’m not gonna ask you to keep secrets. I have some scars that I don’t like people seeing, so I need privacy for naked tasks like bathing and dressing, please.’

‘Of course, ser. I shall get you screens to use.’

‘Thank you, Seren.’ Jaris was examining the contents of the breakfast table, seeing fruits that were only slightly recognisable, and cheese, and what looked like bird of some kind, cold, and something that might have been polenta or something similar. He sampled everything thoughtfully, and ate what he could, while Seren made the bed, which was much more complicated than simply straightening the duvet, since this was a place with rope beds and multiple mattresses stuffed with things like straw, chaff, wool, or feathers. There must have been a lot of them, though, because Jaris had slept well, and not woken with any aches in his back or hips.

Seren left, and came back with more elves, who set up everything for a private bath, and Jaris was glad he’d been so interested in the history of bathing, or he wouldn’t know what the hell to do with the oil and the scraper and the ashes. But he had, and he did, and it left his skin smooth and glowing, and feeling much better than a water bath did. The clothes were a puzzle, but he managed easily enough, and the staff was a little strange, but he’d work with it. It looked really cool, anyway.

He found Lord Pavus, who greeted him.

‘Good morning, Laetan Mews.’

‘Morning. What’s Laetan mean, please?’

‘Ah—that you are a mage, but not one of us, an altus.’

‘Hm, I don’t like it. No please. Call me Dr Mews.’

Lord Pavus gave a little smile, but bowed. ‘As you wish, Dr Mews. You’re a curious fellow, asking for a humbler title.’

Jaris gave him a pleasant smile. ‘I went through seven years of tertiary school and an academic gauntlet to earn the title of “Doctor”, my lord.’ There were edges on the smile, and the cold, dead eyes of a shark sinking teeth into Pavus’ gaze, holding it right where Jaris wanted it. _What did you do to earn the title of lord, Pavus?_ Jaris knew how to lek, he just never _played_ at that sort of thing; no, Jaris went straight for the throat, immediately.

Pavus drew back slightly, but much to Jaris’ surprise, did not immediately go into temper tantrum mode. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I see. A true scholar, I should have guessed from your study ethic. My apologies. I suppose “doctor” is like our “enchanter”, then.’

‘I suppose it must be,’ Jaris said. ‘Now, I’d like to get to work, if we may.’

.oOo.

Halward was starting to get the measure of this man. He was all work; but in the vital, eagle-focussed manner of one who enjoyed nothing more than the work he did. He sketched tirelessly, taught Pavus about such things as the science of crowd-flow and -control, about queues and their importance, about building cities on a grid, about how to arrange buildings to work better, do more, incorporate the natural world into them. He assumed a lot of things as given, displaying the same stunning depth of knowledge he had last night—it was seemingly without end, and why Halward was pleased to have snapped him up before someone else did.

He also talked a lot about everything, asking Halward about himself, his interests, his opinions; he was a skilful conversationalist, and filled the loneliness Halward had felt since Dorian… well, left. Helped distract Halward from his failure, and the emptiness of the house. After all, Magister Aquinea, his wife, did not live in the same wing, and was rarely home, preferring the capital.

The week was spent in this way, though Halward could not spend every waking moment with Jaris, he heard that Jaris was not all at his table or in the library—he walked the streets, getting to know Qarinus, its people, its places. He walked quickly, and like a dangerous man, though he had never hurt anyone, and his intensity was saved for the structure of the city itself, frowning at puddles of water and cracks in walls rather than vagrants and errant elflings.

He was also going to attract the eye of the rival Halward had been worried about—Dr Mews was, unfortunately, in possession of the kind of delicate bone structure and androgyny that Magister Carmine lusted after. Halward pulled Jaris aside, a tenday into his stay, to say so, having seen Carmine riding down the street, his carriage behind him, and an opportunity, while they supped on the balcony that had a view of the high street.

‘There is someone just come back into the city that may… begin to have designs upon you. I wish to warn you, my friend,’ Halward began. Jaris remained his usual cool self (well, he was cool and collected when socialising, anyway), but his brow raised, following Halward’s gaze to the frilled and practically Orlesian peacock atop a golden Tevinter mare. He sparkled in the sunlight.

‘Magister Carmine is of perverse taste, and targets men with your delicacy of feature. I would not wish him to prey upon your being new to the Imperium, Dr Mews.’

Mews sat back in his chair, uncrossing and recrossing his legs the other direction, watching Magister Carmine closely. ‘I see,’ he said, and got up. ‘Well,’ he said, and went inside, and Halward didn’t realise where he was going, until he saw Mews emerge and begin crossing the courtyard, toward the front gate of the house. Halward was startled, but then laughed at himself; of course, Mews would tackle the problem head-on. That was how he was.

AB

There was every chance this fop might be a predator, as Pavus painted him; there was more of a chance, Jaris thought, of him merely being openly gay and femme in a place where that wasn’t acceptable. Either way, Jaris needed to talk to this man, whatever that conversation needed to be. He did something he knew would get the man’s attention, because it was something that got Halward’s attention.

He pulled out his cellphone, and lifted it over the crowd to take a photo. It was late afternoon, sunset was in full swing, so the glitter from the case Jaris had on it was _weird_ , and interesting, and Magisters ate that shit up. Jaris pretended not to notice, slipping the cellphone back in his pocket and looking up at the horse stopped in front of him.

‘Hiya, I’m Dr Jaris Mews,’ Jaris said. ‘Your contour looks amazing.’ It wasn’t a lie, the man’s face was gorgeous, exactly what Jaris was attracted too—fop by way of drag queen. ‘I think we should talk, you and I. Right now.’

‘Should we,’ said Carmine. ‘Well, by all means,’ he waved a glittering hand, and dismounted, stroking the horse gently and murmuring a command. ‘Shall we use my carriage?’

Jaris considered it, and decided it was a calculated risk. ‘Yes, but the minute the carriage moves at all, I’m clawing out your eyes.’

Carmine chuckled. ‘Oh, I like you. I like you, Dr Jaris Mews. Agreed.’

Jaris followed Carmine into the carriage, which was suitably frilly and full of skilful craftsmanship, just like Carmine’s ensemble and face. ‘So,’ Jaris said, as soon as the door closed, ‘Magister Pavus thinks you’re going to try and seduce and-or rape me because I’m pretty. I would like your opinion on that subject.’

Carmine looked him up and down, canting his head. ‘Magister Pavus is so terrified of sexual deviance that he drove away his _only_ heir after driving the poor boy to climb into a bottle to escape his father’s iron fist.’

‘To be clear, because I’m foreign, we’re talking about men who fuck men, right? That kind of sexual deviance?’

Carmine’s queenly mien was dropped for quiet seriousness. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that is correct.’

‘Just wanted to be clear,’ Jaris said cheerfully. ‘Say on, what does this have to do with me?’

‘Are you brilliant?’ Carmine asked. ‘You’re about his son’s age.’

‘I see. So I’m a surrogate?’

‘Possibly. What is it you do?’

‘I build cities,’ Jaris said. ‘I fix broken cities, structurally speaking. I got bored with buildings, and physical structures, and started going into the details that really design how people move around and interact with the city itself, the streets and so on. Magister Pavus is trying to get my ideas in front of the right people.’

‘I see.’ Carmine leaned back. ‘You realise talking to me, like this, might upset him?’

‘A cat may look at a king,’ Jaris said, folding his arms. ‘The more people I talk to about my ideas, the more chance they have of getting built. And if he doesn’t realise that, then he’s no ally of mine.’

‘I see. And these… warnings he gave?’

‘Not to put too fine a point on it, my darling,’ Jaris said, turning on his own purr, ‘but that lipcolour would look good smeared. All. Over. Me.’

Carmine’s laugh was the full-throated one of someone surprised into laughter. ‘Oh, you _are_ a delight!’ he said, when he could speak again. ‘Pity he got to you first; I do _insist_ you try and visit, soon.’ He leaned forward, lowering his voice. ‘And perhaps I _will_ seduce you. If you wish,’ he murmured, eyes flashing with green fire that Jaris knew was a little magic—the real flash-bang kind. Jaris appreciated the subtlety.

‘Mm, I’d love to negotiate that, see if we’re compatible,’ he murmured, because they were from different cultures and it paid to be clear about sex, regardless.

‘Then come see me, tomorrow morning. We will negotiate,’ he still purred, and was very close, close enough for Jaris to smell him—and he smelled _good_ , like subtle perfume that wasn’t over-applied, and makeup, and Jaris could tell that underneath all the artificial scents was a person-scent that was definitely attractive. So that was one thing sorted.

Carmine opened the carriage door, and Jaris climbed carefully down the steps folded out by a human servant—or slave? Jaris was still unclear on that, hadn’t asked about it at all, and there was only so much you could learn from observation. He made his way back to Pavus’ gate, and went back in, and headed back to the balcony, where Pavus was pacing.

‘That was _foolish_ , Mews!’ he exploded, and Jaris took a step back. ‘He’s far more powerful than you, he’s _dangerous_ , what were you _thinking_?’

Jaris waited, let the silence grow between them, until he was _sure_ that he wasn’t going to be interrupted. ‘I don’t owe you an explanation,’ he said. ‘However, you are getting one, so don’t take it for granted. I have met men who are dangerous like that, before. You think he’s the only person who sees me and thinks that? I’m used to it. I deal with it in my own way, a way that I have tried and tested, that works for me. I make my boundaries clear, and I maintain them. You know this already, Lord Pavus,’ he said, hating that formality but sticking to it for civility’s sake. ‘And might I remind you that you are _not_ , actually, old enough to be my father. I appreciate that you are worried, but _step off_ ,’ Jaris said, hoping the meaning of the idiom was clear, even across cultural boundaries.

Now for the hard part. ‘As it turns out, Magister Carmine actually respects boundaries,’ he began, sitting back down at the table and starting to eat again.

‘Does he,’ Pavus said, coming to sit with him again, pouring himself more wine. ‘Or perhaps you are a force of nature,’ he said, and Jaris snorted.

‘You’re not the first to call me that,’ he said, sopping up a bit of something _like_ hummus with a bit of flatbread. ‘It’s why I can do what I just did. He’s interested in my work, by the way, and I’m having lunch with him tomorrow. I’ll be bringing my sketches.’

‘I’ll lend you an amulet, it should protect you against anything he decides to do.’

‘If it makes you feel better, my lord,’ Jaris said, making clear in his tone that he thought it highly unnecessary. The man had to learn that Jaris was not a young man, regardless of what he looked like.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maevaris!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this is gonna be weird vignettes until about chapter four and I don't apologise for that. I can't really refresh my memory with the game right now, but the Muse wants to write dragon age, so I'm doing my best to write the story i want to write while keeping all the Lore straight.

Jaris found he wasn’t alone with Magister Carmine when he arrived the next morning, his bag sans shoulder strap, Jaris holding it by the handle. That looked classier, and he wanted to look classier today. He’d even had Seren touch up his hair, which by coincidence went along with the high class fashion of Qarinus, with one side of Jaris’ head shorn, long curls usually hiding one side of his face, though not in his eyes, his glasses holding them out of the way at least that much.

Carmine’s home was _covered_ in art, most of it of elves, which was different than the art Jaris had seen so far. There were lots of statues, even more paintings, and the whole house seemed decorated for beauty, by someone with a taste for sensual pleasures. There was music, the first Jaris had heard since getting here, from what sounded like a violin and piano duo. The elf that had answered the door led him closer and closer to it, until he saw a blonde transwoman (and Jaris could tell simply because he was also trans) playing the violin, Carmine at what looked like a grand piano—a grand piano, Jaris noted, not a pianoforte. They’d figured out how to make the body of metal that wouldn’t warp or snap with the tension of the strings, then. Interesting.

Jaris waited, watching them play together, swaying a little. The music was reaching deep down and _doing things_ , but Jaris didn’t think that was magic—he had synaesthesia, sometimes music just did that. Jaris never told anyone, keeping it a private interaction between him, his brain, and the music. He found a place to sit, the elf silently showing him to a cushioned bench of beautifully-carved wood, and Jaris quietly set his bag down, and sat, folding his hands in his lap and leaning his head back against the tiled wall, watching them without really seeing them, sinking fully into the music.

It was beautiful music, played with inspiration and feeling, Jaris’ favourite. When it ended, he waited for the last of the echoes to die away, before speaking into the silence.

‘That was splendiferous,’ he said, smiling and getting to his feet, bowing to them. ‘I’m Doctor Jaris Mews.’ He straightened. ‘I build cities.’

‘So I’ve _heard_ ,’ said the woman, smiling at him. With her pin-curls and smile that was halfway a sneer, Jaris was reminded even more of a certain celebrity from a bygone age of glamour. ‘And quite bold, of course.’

‘I prefer the direct approach.’

‘I’m surprised you’re still alive.’

‘So am I,’ Jaris admitted. ‘But enough of this gay banter.’ He picked up his bag. ‘I have wonders to show you.’

She laughed, and Jaris knew it was a practised one, because he’d practised his too. It was a pretty laugh, he liked it very much. She was pretty, and he felt a kind of longing solidarity with her, one that he’d never gotten used to, simply because he hadn’t ever really _met_ any trans women before. Still, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get the time to _connect_ with her about it, and that was fine. Sometimes you just silently felt solidarity, and that was enough. It was enough to be comfortable, in this house, to not worry about it. Jaris had brought everything with him, in case he felt like moving. He would reserve judgement—he’d learned, in his life, that just because other people were queer, didn’t mean they had anything else in common with him.

The lady introduced herself as Magister Tilani, and after Carmine showed them to his study, Jaris showed them his sketches, gave them the elevator pitch, and they asked thoughtful questions, Carmine seeming particularly fixated on what Jaris could do for the slums. Jaris had a lot of ideas about those, but finally leaned on the table, looking at Carmine intensely for a few moments.

‘Do you _really_ care,’ he asked, in a hard voice. ‘Or are you just pitying them without actually wanting to raise them up to your level?’

He saw the flicker of discomfort, but then Carmine’s face _changed_. His eyes got larger and his ears more pointed; Jaris had never seen a glamour drop before, but he could recognise it from years of movie special effects, and seeing his housemate, Tristan, transform his face in person, for Jaris’ delight, since Jaris liked watching ‘the magic’ so much.

‘They are my people,’ Carmine said simply.

‘And you pass as human, so you get to have the position of power, and you’re trying to use your privilege to help them. Okay, then, I’m on board.’ Jaris actually sat down for the first time since he’d spread his plans out over the table’s surface, and folded his hands. ‘I have some questions I wasn’t comfortable asking Lord Pavus, about the whole… uh….’ Jaris didn’t know how to begin, gesticulating. ‘The slave thing,’ he finally said. ‘The fact that all the elves are poor. That there’s obviously a slave trade and reliance on slave labour that’s just… legal and culturally acceptable. I’m not from here, I don’t know, and I’m trying not to condemn a culture I know nothing about, but…’ he stopped himself, and gave as non-committal a shrug as he could.

‘But it feels wrong, to own another sapient being,’ Carmine said.

‘Well, I mean, without their _consent_ , and without drawing up and negotiating a _contract_ , yeah,’ Jaris said, thinking of some of his friends. Magister Tilani looked at him with _interest_ , now, as did Carmine.

‘Oho, our young friend knows about all _sorts_ of fun things, Magnus.’

Carmine was still studying a small sketch that had slipped out, of a strange little house in a dessert, with palm trees. ‘What is this?’ he said, for it was drawn with less of the precise edges of a builder’s square, and more… artistry. All of the drawings had a sensibility to them, but this one had heart. Jaris took the offered drawing, and looked at it quietly, for a long time.

‘A home,’ he said, a tear falling down one cheek. He wiped it away—not impatient, not self-conscious, merely wiped it away, and sniffed, pulling out a pink handkerchief. Maevaris and Carmine exchanged glances.

‘Where did you say you were from?’ Maevaris asked.

‘I didn’t,’ Jaris said, and it was a complete sentence. ‘Do you want one? They’re for places that don’t get a lot of precipitation, is the only caveat. Those butterfly roofs don’t work well in rain or snow.’

‘I want to see the city that fits into,’ Carmine said. ‘The simple lines, the angles—show me what style of architecture that is. What is it called?’

Jaris beamed, full of life—even _more_ so.

‘It’s called _googie_ ,’ Jaris said, clearing the desk, flipping backward in his sketchbooks, until he found the sketches he’d made of what a manor might look like, if a manor had ever been made in that style. He had a sketch of the library in Qarinus, if it had been that style. ‘Re-imagining buildings in googie style is my hobby,’ he said. ‘Nobody wants it anymore, where I’m from.’

‘Remiss of them,’ Carmine said, taking the sketchbook and flipping through it. ‘ _Look_ at this, Mae,’ he urged, leaning over. ‘Can you imagine if the city looked like this? Oh—’ Carmine paused at something that looked like nothing he’d ever seen before. Jaris leaned over the table.

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘that’s a train station. You don’t have public mass-transport here, do you? I wonder if magic could take the place of what we use for power…’ he said. ‘That’s a train, it’s powered by electricity and magnets, where I’m from. It moves people around, here, where’s that subway map…’

He actually, Maevaris was delighted to watch, _climbed onto the table_ , leaving his shoes on the floor and tucking his feet underneath him, flipping through the book of sketches, showing them a map of the city drawn in blue, with red tracing certain main streets, various parts labelled with landmarks or intersections.

‘This is a map for a proposed subway or elevated train system. It would be a regular back-and-forth route between all these stops, so people could get around faster and easier—and go farther, faster than walking. It would also clear the streets of congestion, and cut down on the need for draft animals. You could fund it with a marginal tax rate. You could fund a _lot_ of things with a marginal tax rate—public transport, public libraries, public schools…’

‘ _Educate_ the _poor_?’ Tilani said. ‘Why _ever_ would we do that? Then they’d _learn things_.’ She laughed. ‘Oh, hush, Doctor Mews; I think it’s a grand idea. I was being facetious.’

‘Good,’ Jaris said, and stopped glaring. ‘But I know what you mean—the rich where I’m from don’t want to pay their rightful taxes either. But they complain that the country is decaying in the same breath.’ He raised a brow. ‘I’ve done enough reading in the past week to know it’s the same here. Tevinter is scrambling to compete with Orlais and Antiva, as though the money to repair the decay, the money to catch up, is going to come from elsewhere than _the people who have the money_.’

‘Been a civic servant long, Dr Mews?’ Tilani said, grinning like a shark.

‘How could you tell?’ Jaris said, grinning back with just as much teeth.

‘Could we construct trains that connected cities? Countries? Imagine a faster route over the Imperial Highway…’ Carmine said, breathless.

‘Absolutely!’ Jaris said. ‘However, I’ve worked out the cost of the materials, and who we would need to contract, and it’s all dwarfwork, honestly.’ He pulled over his notebook, flipping over to his page of calculations. ‘Grading the landscape and getting permission to build is going to be the main thing, as well as making sure wildlife and the Dalish aren’t stopped from their normal migration patterns. I didn’t find a lot of data on migration patterns, but I’m assuming you have migratory land animals and I know how to build for that sort of thing.’

‘Is there any detail you haven’t thought of, my dear Doctor?’ Tilani asked, looking over the numbers with expertise.

‘My lady,’ Jaris said, ‘details are _all_ I think of. If I may make a suggestion, however, for a first project?’ He reached for the sketchbook, and Carmine handed it back to him; Jaris flipped to the drawings he’d made of a Chantry, holding it up for both of them to see. ‘I find that sweet-talking the Church is always a good opening gambit. They always have _lots_ of money for God.’

Carmine and Tilani both laughed. ‘Oh you _do_ know your way around,’ Tilani said, chuckling. ‘Yes, ply the Chantry, by all means, with this flattery. And the rest will follow, of course.’

‘No slave labour,’ Jaris said, ‘hear me out—if you start out doing it that way, then the new architecture becomes a symbol of oppression, and you breed a violent revolution. _Use_ the New Look _as_ the revolution, and it becomes the Imperium’s proof that it _can_ change. Building a new Imperium, in a _new_ way, will start building the infrastructure needed to start the ripple effect. You give the people better jobs, _unionised_ jobs, and you lift them out of poverty _with_ the same projects that are going to look sparkly and impressive. The poor are impressed with the nitty-gritty _actions_ of fair wages and union support, and the rich are impressed with the _look_ of the buildings and the shiny, new technologies. Everyone wins, and it’s a long-term win, not a short-term one that will undercut itself. Then, by the time we get to the difficult proposals—the public education system and so on, the stuff that benefits the little guys—already we have all these results to prove the idea works.’

Jaris gave his best smile, the one Tristan had coached him on, and there was a _bit_ of a silence, as his hosts looked at one another, then back at him.

‘How much of this have you told Lord Pavus?’ Carmine asked, carefully.

‘Oh, none of it. It was clear to me he wasn’t interested, so I didn’t bother.’

The relief was palpable—barely, and only because Jaris was hypersensitive to the emotions of others.

‘You realise you’re talking about revolution.’

‘Yes ma’am,’ Jaris said cheerfully. ‘I get the feeling I’m also talking to progressives, from how Carmine’s opinion on Young Dorian went, yesterday.’

Carmine snorted softly at Mae’s look. ‘You _know_ how I feel about it, Mae, dear. And this young man was _extremely_ forthright about certain matters.’

Jaris cleared his throat, ‘I’m also transgender, myself,’ he said, ‘as well as being a queer man, like Dorian.’

‘A _queer_ man!’ Carmine said softly, a laugh in his eyes. ‘What a turn of phrase!’

‘It’s what we call the whole shebang, where I’m from. Women who love women, boys who love boys, people who love more or less than one gender, people who are… transgender, as we say. I’m a man with a cunt, a transgender man. A man with a cock and balls is a cisgender man. Get it?’

‘You noticed,’ Tilani said, dryly. ‘But I noticed you, so we’re even.’ Still, it was… revolutionary, to have a word for it, and Jaris seemed so comfortable with the words he was using, the concepts explained without shame.

‘Trans people can spot each other in a crowd,’ Jaris said, flipping through his sketches. ‘I don’t mind when it’s a sister.’

 _A sister_. Maevaris had never thought of it that way; then again, she’d not met anyone else like herself, before. ‘My husband was a dwarf,’ she said, ‘I have connections that could help any of these projects come to life.’

‘And I have the political ones,’ Carmine said. ‘The Chantry is a good start, and the Black Divine is… a _personal_ friend of mine.’

‘Your bedroom conquests never _cease_ to amaze me, Carmine,’ Tilani murmured. Carmine gave a velvety chuckle that went straight to Jaris’ coque, and Jaris gave his own Wicked laugh.

‘I _shudder_ to think what you and my housemate Tristan would be like in the same room,’ Jaris murmured, mostly to himself, polishing up a sketch as he spoke. ‘And, my _lord_ ,’ he said, making it something of a pun as he slanted a coy gaze at Carmine through his lashes. ‘You did _promise_ to seduce me, today. Not that enthusiasm for googie is a bad job of it, in fairness,’ he added, tilting his head up and regarding the man thoughtfully. ‘How are you feelings about scars?’

‘They feel delicious under my tongue,’ Carmine returned.

‘And nipples?’

A raised brow. ‘I _adore_ them, doesn’t everyone?’

‘Sorry to disappoint you, then,’ Jaris said, not at all perturbed—it always gave him a rather sadistic glee to do the Big Reveal. ‘I haven’t any.’ He started sorting the loose sketches into his folders again, delicately plucking his sticky flags from Maevaris’ hands.

‘Oh, dear,’ Tilani said, pursing her lips. ‘How awful.’

‘Consequence of the surgery to remove my tits,’ Jaris said. ‘And it is such a relief to be in company where I feel comfortable being _openly trans_ , my god. I haven’t come out to Lord Pavus, for obvious reasons. I would _prefer_ my gender not be held over my head, but I realise you’re courtiers, and courtiers gotta court.’

They laughed, but it was only at the joke. ‘We would never,’ Tilani said, with the seriousness of a grave.

‘I freely participate in blackmail, but there are lines, and that is one of them,’ Carmine agreed. ‘Would that I had been able to communicate that to Dorian.’

‘On the subject of Dorian,’ Jaris said, tapping his pencil against his lips. ‘Pavus said he disappeared. I know enough about this kind of thing to be suspicious—is Dorian alive?’

‘Yes,’ Carmine said. ‘He headed south, I am uncertain where, but…’ a smile hovered at his lips, and he glanced at Tilani. ‘Your _cousin_ seems to have met a fiery, vain, Tevinter boy of late.’

‘Hasn’t he just,’ Tilani said. ‘But why do you ask, my dear Doctor?’

‘I worry about little cousins,’ Jaris said simply. ‘And… well, I guess it might be my own experiences, but I’ve met some men like Pavus, in my time. Changed their opinion on queer folks too, helped them be better for their kids. It can help to talk to an older gay man, if you’re the father of a _young_ gay man. Sometimes. Not always, but… look, Pavus is not a _lost cause_. He’s not out here beating his slaves or wanting his kid dead for being queer. He’s got ethics. There’s something he did that he really regrets— _I_ dunno what it was, but regretting it means he’s taken the first step to _learn better_. That’s something. You shouldn’t give up on folks, as long as they’re alive they have the capacity to be better. And you only get _one_ family. Sometimes it can’t be salvaged, but sometimes it just needs a little help. If I can help, I want to.’

Tilani studied Jaris. ‘And you want to bring them together again, to talk?’

‘I’d like to talk to Dorian myself, first,’ Jaris said. ‘I’d like to keep getting to know Pavus. I may change my assessment if I get some data that points out oh, hey, this is an abusive parent. But as of right now… I give a fuck,’ he said, choosing the words carefully. ‘I give more fucks about Dorian, because he’s family and Pavus isn’t. But I give _a_ fuck about Pavus. One. Singular.’ He snapped the buckles on his bag. ‘Now, I was promised an orgasm, and I want to give each of you _at least_ one, if that’s agreeable?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Tilani said, ‘We’ve worked together before. You like women too?’

‘I like women too, yes,’ Jaris knew from personal experience how important it was to not say things like _‘I like everybody’_ when a trans person was asking for confirmation that you saw them as the correct gender, sexually. He was pansexual, but it was not the appropriate time to say that. ‘I like women to dom me,’ he added. ‘But I dom men. Dom as in “dominate”.’

‘Good word,’ Carmine said.

‘Are we using magic, or not?’ Tilani asked of Carmine.

Jaris started ticking things off on his fingers when Carmine replied by looking to _him_. ‘Stay out of my head, don’t do anything spooky with the fabric of reality, I’m not into humiliation beyond making me blush with compliments, no pain other than like, scratching up somebody’s back or down their thighs. No bodily fluids,’ he added. ‘Oh, and if anybody says stop, then stopping happens. I call it a coque, not a clitoris, and you can call it a cunt but don’t call it anything else. Is that everything? Questions? What about the two of you?’

‘This isn’t a seduction,’ Carmine said, but was more curious than annoyed by it. ‘This is a _negotiation_.’

‘I feel as though we are in a pillow-house,’ Tilani added, settling herself in her chair again.

‘It’s refreshing,’ Carmine assured Jaris, putting a hand on his knee. ‘You’ll have to indicate what _it_ is, though I have some idea of what you mean.’ He considered the puzzle of whether he would submit. ‘But,’ he said, gesturing for Tilani to go first, ‘Beauty before age.’

‘Well,’ Tilani said, drawing out the word as she smouldered at Jaris, crossing her legs, ‘I _do_ like a man on his knees, putting that clever mouth to good use.’

Jaris’ pupils went huge, behind his narrow little spectacles. ‘Yes _ma’am_ ,’ he said, breathless and eager. He _scrambled_ to the floor, kneeling at her feet. ‘Yes, ma’am, _please_. Let me _worship you_ , _please…’_

‘Oh, what a _delicious_ creature you are!’ Maevaris had never been called “ma’am”, but the reverence with which he spoke told her enough about it being a title of respect. She touched his the shorn side of his head, short as velvet, just long enough to be soft instead of prickly. ‘We’re going to have so much _fun_ together….’

The noise Jaris made was _beautiful._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the set-up chapters.

Jaris listened to the confession he hadn’t asked for, quietly, and with compassion for the pain and the grief being displayed along with the words—and the regret, the regret so many parents had, when they realised wrongs they had done to their children, and felt no way to fix them. How do you protect your child from yourself?

‘Halward,’ Jaris said, saying his name for the first time, a hand on his back. ‘Acknowledging what you did was harmful is a good first step into repairing the bridge between you and Dorian, okay?’

‘You think so?’

‘Yes—and I want you to keep listening to me here—it’s only the _first_ step. This is a long journey, and the first thing you have to do is admit you fucked up, and hurt your kid. The _second_ thing you have to do,’ Jaris soldiered on, ‘is _listen to Dorian when he talks_. Treat him like the grown man he is.’

‘He’s _gone_ , how can I do these things?’

‘You can start by practising with other people. Like me, for example. You’ve been talking down to me since I got here, like I’m your kid. You realise, I’m forty years old?’

‘Yes, but you are—’

‘I am forty years old, just as educated as you, just as intelligent as you, just as _capable_ as you,’ Jaris said, impatient but trying not to be. In the months they’d been friends, Pavus had learned better, though Jaris knew it would take a little more time for them to unravel the issues about gender and sexuality and duty and marriage.

‘I—you’re right,’ he said. ‘Your conduct of your affairs, and your successes, should have proven that to me many times over.’

‘Good. That’s progress.’

.o.O.o.

‘I want to support you,’ Halward said, an evening two months later, as they dined together. ‘I know you’re doing something with Tilani and Carmine, and shutting me out of it.’

Jaris considered for a few bites of fish, a few sips of lemon water. ‘Tell me why I’m shutting you out,’ he said, finally, in a very even tone, a very careful tone. ‘What might I feel afraid to share with you?’

Jaris watched Halward realise it, and watched his expression change from anger, to realisation, to shame, to—and this was the important one—determination.

‘And yet you stayed,’ he said, really realising what Jaris thought he was risking by doing so. ‘Maker, you stayed, even after hearing what I’d almost done to my _son_. After knowing what I _did_ do.’

Jaris put a hand on Halward’s back as tears overcame Halward again. ‘It’s okay to cry,’ Jaris said, because he always said that, always touched someone. He’d been in enough institutions to know how to comfort a crying person without lying to them.

‘I kept him as a _prisoner_ ,’ Halward said bitterly. ‘What kind of father am I?’

‘What kind of father are you _going_ to be, _in future_?’ Jaris countered. ‘You get to decide that. Will you be the kind that apologises to your kid?’

‘I should,’ he said, firmly, in the tone Jaris knew well, of someone telling themselves sternly to do something difficult, to make amends. ‘You are a wise man, Jaris. How did it come to be?’

‘I’ve been through hell,’ Jaris said, simply.

.o.O.o.

Jaris was confident that the journey would make or break them as friends, and was ready for either—and willing to meet Pavus halfway. There was a good heart in there, and it was too easy to give up on the man as a lost cause, to not allow him space to be better; certainly, as a younger man, Jaris wouldn’t have bothered. He would have left as soon as he’d found queerer company. Age, however, had taught him that giving up on people was a kind of judgement, and judgement never got you anywhere decent.

They were travelling by horseback, which Jaris freely admitted to not knowing anything about, and after a description of a camel, Pavus said they had those, they weren’t called “camel”, they were called “dromedarius”, and Pavus would get Jaris one, if he truly wanted such an animal.

‘They’re better for travelling,’ Jaris said immediately. ‘They’re easier to feed, they’re used to very little water, and they have a smoother gait. Also they don’t spook at everything, and don’t get sick as easily as horses. Horses are… evolutionarily a mess, honestly.’

Pavus laughed. ‘Is there anything you don’t have an informed opinion about, Dr Mews?’

‘Sports,’ Jaris said immediately. ‘And stars. Don’t know shit about the stars. Don’t know, don’t care.’


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the part I actually wanted to write. Also: Meet my Warden, because I don't currently have a Quizzy, and anyway what I always _truly_ wanted was the ability to be the same character through all three games. I liked my Warden that much.

_To my son, Dorian,_

_I have wronged you. Even those stark words seem inadequate to acknowledge the amount of things I have done. I have a wise friend, who has advised me to be specific about what I did, so that it is clear what I apologise for. It is painful to write, but I know it is the right thing to do, for your sake._

_I was controlling, I wrongly attempted to seize your fate, and felt entitled to your life in even private aspects, even to the point of setting aside my personal morals! I have learned now, that I was being driven by fear, and acted in a craven and cowardly manner because my belief—that you were a small version of me—was being proven wrong, and I did not wish to see the truth. I realise the truth now, and I have accepted reality, and come to peace with it._

_You being my son, you being well and at peace with yourself, is more important than whatever life I imagined for you. You are you, not me. You are Dorian, and Dorian is a fine man for you to be. I lost sight of you, and punished you unjustly and cruelly—and for this, I am most profoundly sorry, and I will do better. You deserve to be heard, and respected, and I will do these things from now on._

_I wish to make reparations, but I cannot think what there is I can do, other than write this letter, and reiterate most emphatically my love for you, and that I have been doing a great deal of thinking, and—as my wise friend calls it— unpacking of my beliefs, and seeing which ones serve me well and which ones have done harm to me and those I love most. _

_I only hope this letter finds you as well as you can be, and happy. That is all I should want for you, and that is all I do want for you, my son, my carissimus. You are a brilliant man, you do credit to our house and to our nation, and I am proud of you._

_~Halward Pavus_

Dorian read the letter, each time the words growing more blurry, until he was crying—silently—in his little nook in the library tower, one hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds.

.o.O.o.

_Inquisitor,_

_I’ve been working with a few people up north on public works projects, but things are continuing apace without me, and the Venatori emergency, as well as the news of the Breach, have caused my colleagues and I to think that perhaps I could be a help to the Inquisition’s infrastructure._

_What I do:_

_Civil Engineering is the technical term for my profession, but I always feel that obfuscates what I do to laypeople. I am an architect. I design and build places where people live, work, play, and travel. Yes, all places, and I adapt well to any level of resources, labour, or environment. I studied this subject in all its aspects because I like to repair cities. _

_However, there are other things I am proficient at, including various forms of therapy, trauma counselling, de-escalating, and mediating. I have done these things informally, and draw from my own extensive experience needing these services, and doing peer counselling and support for many years while receiving it in kind. I heal hearts and minds, not bodies. Seems like y’all folks might need a lot of that._

_I’ve included samples of my work, give them to your builders and artificers and ask them what they think. I’ll be in Redcliff soon, if the weather remains predictable, and staying there. I’m hard to miss, don’t worry. Just look for a man with purple-tinted spectacles._

_~Jaris Mews, Doctor of Architecture_

Glimmer looked over the plans carefully rolled up in the mapcase, and spread them out over the war table. When his advisors came in, half an hour later, it was one by one, with Cullen being the first, quick to meetings as he was. Glimmer let each one read the papers on their own time, and kept trying to make sense of the drawings. He wasn’t technical, but he knew someone who was, and took one of the smaller drawings out to Gatsi, who soon came back in, all enthusiasm, and looked over the rest of the plans, really giving them more of an idea of how good Jaris was.

.o.O.o.

_Doctor Jaris Mews,_

_The Inquisition would be very glad to have you on board. Skyhold could definitely use someone with your skills—all of your skills. Lady Montilyet is securing a supply of materials for your technical drawings and diagrams. Is there anything else you need?_

_I would love to meet you in Redcliffe. You won’t miss me, I have bright pink hair. I’ll also be surrounded by a mob of people, sorry about that. I’m famous. It’s terrible._

_~Glimmer Surana, Inq._

Pink hair? Jaris smiled wistfully, and wondered if this Glimmer Surana was anything like Tristan.

.o.O.o.

It wasn’t as precise as ‘meet me here, at this time’, because there were things like _weather_ and _war_ and _bandits_ ; but given that Jaris and Glimmer both had eye-catching appearances, it wasn’t going to be hard to find one another. Jaris wondered why Glimmer was famous, until he saw the statue in the middle of town square, and the plaque that read:

_Glimmer Surana  
_

_Who saved Redcliffe from the undead_

_Who saved Ferelden from the Blight_

_“And the Maker will send angels in your time of suffering.”_

The statue was of an elf mage, his hand on the head of a dog. An elf with poofy glam rock hair rather like Glimmer’s, only shorter and simpler. Still, it must have been a dwarf that carved it, because that hairstyle was hard to carve, and it was reproduced without an ounce of simplification.

It was a slow time of day, between midday and evening, and so the tavern was nearly empty of people. Jaris was sitting nearest the fire, with Halward, both of them bickering enjoyably over some of the spells Jaris knew about, neither one having seen Glimmer yet, except in statue form.

‘…Jaris, that’s _fanciful!_ You can’t just _tie wind up in a knot of rope_ , you’d need some kind of _anchor;_ and it wouldn’t be _permanent_ , anyway.’

‘Okay but—hear me out—why not? It’s magic, right? I mean, I pulled off some shit you said shouldn’t be possi—they’re behind me aren’t they?’

Halward’s whole demeanour had changed; Jaris had been getting him to calm down by asking silly questions about magic; but, now, he was tensed again. Still, it was better than nothing. Halward got to his feet, and Jaris did as well, turning to see the elf from the statue, in living colour, and a _gorgeous_ young man that was obviously Dorian, and a big black dog who was obviously quite old, silver around her muzzle.

‘Well,’ Jaris said, holding out his hand to Dorian. ‘I’m Doctor Mews, you must be Dorian.’

Dorian shook hands, which Jaris was grateful for. ‘Charmed,’ Dorian said, with a wary smile.

‘I’m Glimmer. Dog likes you,’ said the elf, smiling, and shaking Jaris’ hand. ‘You must be a good person.’

Despite the fact that Jaris didn’t like dogs, the statement warmed him some. People who let their animals—their well-behaved, calm animals—judge new people were generally good to be around, dogs or otherwise.

‘Dorian,’ Halward said, then paused. ‘Did you read my letter?’ he finally asked.

‘I did,’ Dorian said, just as hesitant, and Halward looked relieved.

‘Good. I—that’s—I was hoping you would. I know you would have had every right not to,’ he added. ‘But I am glad you did.’

‘So am I—though I _am_ curious about this wise friend of yours.’

Halward motioned to Jaris in explanation. ‘Doctor Mews is… would it help perhaps, to know that I have… allied myself with Magister Tilani, and Magister Carmine?’

‘Are you still my father?’ Dorian demanded, but was only half-joking. His eyes were a little wide in surprise.

‘I am—I hope—a better version of your father,’ Halward returned, and Jaris wanted to hug him. Seeing someone’s progress was so, so good. Jaris loved seeing people change for the better, learn how to not suffer anymore. ‘And I wish to help the Inquisition, if that is all right with my son,’ he said, to the Inquisitor. ‘I can help from afar, if that would be better, Dorian.’

Glimmer looked to Dorian. ‘We aren’t turning down help, but Dorian, are you okay with him coming back to Skyhold, or would you rather he be stationed elsewhere?’

Jaris just waited, not looking at Dorian, not wanting him to feel put on the spot.

‘You really don’t care?’ Dorian pressed. ‘About me loving men and all? About my lover being a male _elf_ , for example? We might get married, even,’ he threatened.

‘Dorian, I—’ Halward paused, because that wasn’t how he wanted to begin. ‘You are my son, and I have faith that you are a good man. If your lover makes you happy, and does not hurt you, what more could I ask for?’

‘Children, perhaps.’

‘Children can be adopted, heirs can be appointed by will. It is my hope you will not turn down your seat, nor leave house Pavus to end with you; but there are ways, and means, to do that _as you are_. You are my _son_ , Dorian, you are my son and I love you, and that is all that _matters,_ in the end.’

Dorian sat down in the seat Jaris had been using, slowly, looking shaky. The dog whined softly, and Glimmer lifted his hand from her head, and she went over to Dorian, insinuating herself between his legs and sitting down on his feet, putting her head in his lap to comfort him. He pet her, absently.

‘I didn’t know you wanted to marry me,’ Glimmer said, sitting on the arm of the chair Dorian was in, grinning. ‘Jealous of my harem, treasure?’

Dorian burst out laughing, but it was relieved laughter.

Halward was thinking. Jaris knew they’d talked about prejudice before, since slavery was illegal in the south, yet elves had overall an extremely poor quality of life regardless. Jaris had taught him about wage-slavery, and systemic prejudice, and how free didn’t matter from a technical standpoint when freedom just meant people found new and creative ways to maintain the oppression. You had to _empower_ people (Jaris always used that word). Halward had not thought he had prejudice toward elves, but Jaris had ruthlessly pointed them out. The fact that, even now, he didn’t object as strongly to a male elf as a male human, said much about the shape of his ‘homophobia’ (another useful new word). So much to sift through, Halward thought; yet he couldn’t help it, now that he knew it was there.

He looked at Glimmer. ‘What are your intentions for my son?’ he asked, feeling perhaps this might be a good way to show Dorian he would not treat a male lover any differently than a female one.

‘Kaffas,’ Dorian said, reddening and hiding his face in his hands. Glimmer just beamed.

‘Am I getting the dog-meat talk?’ he asked brightly. ‘Seriously? Oh my gosh, I’ve never gotten that before from _anybody_!’

‘The dog-meat talk?’ Halward echoed, faintly.

‘We call it the shovel-talk, where I’m from,’ Jaris said. ‘We bury our dead,’ he added, realising people didn’t do that, here. Everyone in earshot gave him a Look. ‘We don’t _have_ undead where I’m from,’ Jaris said, rolling his eyes.

‘Where… where do you _bury_ them?’ Glimmer asked, faintly, utterly distracted from the original question.

‘Six feet deep, originally on your own land, but that changed to only being allowed in designated graveyards, which disenfranchised the poorer classes and made it easy to seize land from them, and I could go on but it’s irrelevant because y’all cremate people.’ Jaris folded his arms.

‘ _Fascinati—’_

‘Not a good word to say, boy,’ Halward interrupted his son gently, having learned himself that Jaris reacted _very_ strongly to that word. And he knew Dorian said it often because _Halward_ said it often.

‘So,’ Glimmer said, returning to the question eagerly. ‘I intend to make passionate love to your son, every night, as long as he can stand me.’ He was only getting started. ‘I intend to write him poetry, and bring him gifts, and make him blush in public with my unbrindled joy in showing him affection.’

‘Glimmer,’ Dorian said, sinking down in his chair and going _scarlet_. Jaris hid a giggle.

‘I intend to climb up on the highest perches and announce to the world that _I love this man!’_ Glimmer went on, getting more theatrical, gesturing like he was on stage. Jaris hid a further giggle, reminded strongly of Tristan. ‘I shall employ another lover to aid me in this effort, and we shall serenade you _en dosa_!’ he finished, clearly enjoying himself. Halward was chuckling.

‘I had heard the Warden was _Fereldan_ , not _Antivan_ ,’ he laughed.

‘He has an Antivan lover,’ Dorian ground out. ‘Vishante kaffas, Glimmer, did you have to announce it to the entire county?’

‘Yes,’ Glimmer said primly, leaning over and kissing his head. ‘Because I _love you_.’

Jaris actually teared up a bit, at that. ‘Bless,’ he murmured.

‘So! Are you suddenly accepting of Dorian because Doctor Mews is _your_ lover?’ Glimmer asked brightly of Halward.

Jaris burst out laughing—it was a high, shrieking explosion of a thing, and he leaned hard against the wall beside the fireplace, sliding down it until he was sitting on the rushes on the floor, giggling helplessly.

Halward just looked sort of frozen in place, ‘We’re _friends_ ,’ he said, which sent Jaris into another fit of giggling, though he was so breathless by this point that it was more like helpless shaking with gasps intermittently.

‘I’m dying, I’m dying…’ Jaris said breathlessly. Halward had noted he often said that, when laughing.

‘I mean,’ Glimmer said, somewhat comfortingly, ‘ _I’d_ fuck you, Lord Pavus.’

‘Glimmer,’ Dorian said, face still hidden, but tone sardonic, ‘You’re not helping.’

‘No, no, it’s not that,’ Jaris said, finally getting his breath back. ‘I just—I’m laughing because you have pink hair and just— _said that_ and. It reminds me of my friend Tristan, who has pink hair and says stuff like that.’

Glimmer and Dorian both looked at him for a long time.

‘Oh,’ said Glimmer, curiously, ‘you _are_ from a different place. Nobody has pink hair in Thedas except me.’

‘Yeah, I have no idea how I got to Thedas.’ Jaris shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

‘He doesn’t think it’s important,’ Halward said, still amused at this.

‘Why we’re here isn’t the right question,’ Jaris said, tossing his head. ‘The right question is _what are we going to do now that we **are**?’_

‘I like that,’ Glimmer said. ‘That’s good, I like that. Not Andrastean, are you?’

‘I don’t really _care_ who’s up there or down there or whatever,’ Jaris said candidly. ‘I believe in people, and I believe in making _this_ life better, right here, and right now. I believe in leaving the world better than how you found it. That is my life’s work, and it will _never_ be finished; but that doesn’t mean I get to stop trying.’

He’d gotten very passionate, in that almost rage-like way of his, blue eyes almost glowing with conviction, and Glimmer was entranced, and almost vibrating. Dorian was watching Jaris too, and smiling a little on one side of his mouth, the way he did when he liked the cut of someone’s cloth. Halward rather liked Jaris’ philosophy, himself.

‘Do you like dogs?’ Glimmer asked, shrewdly.

‘Eh,’ Jaris said, shrugging. ‘I like _your_ dog.’

‘Dog is a good girl,’ Glimmer said, and Dog’s tail thumped heavily on the carpet, at that, her tongue lolling out.

‘Grizelda doesn’t like dogs,’ Jaris said. ‘So, uh, be aware.’

‘Oh, is she the big black dromedarius?’

‘The camel, yeah.’

‘Camel is easier to say, I like that. Camel. Camel,’ Glimmer said, committing it to memory. He hopped off the arm of the chair. ‘Good! Well, let’s get going, we need to get back to Redcliffe castle for dinner.’

As they walked along, Glimmer was greeted by people of all ages, though they were all older than about twenty. Through the little conversations, Jaris learned a lot of things. He learned that Glimmer had saved Redcliffe from a plague of undead, and a demon, about ten years ago, and that was the reason for the statue. They were greeted at the castle, but Jaris hung back, looking at the building itself, as always, while everyone else talked. He looked at the ceiling, smiled to himself as he contemplated making a terrible joke involving the double-meaning of the word ‘fornication’, and restrained himself.

‘He’d rather meet your castle, first,’ Halward said knowingly, when the Arl asked, carefully, if Mews was touched in the head. ‘He did this when he first came to my house.’

‘I… see.’

‘I have weird friends, you know me,’ Glimmer said cheerfully. The Arl laughed, at that, and smiled at Mews as he finally wandered over.

‘Doctor Mews, this is Arl Eamon, and Arlessa Isolde.’

Mews bowed, briefly, and kissed the air above the lady’s hand politely.

Glimmer chatted happily at dinner, all smiles and laughter, and even the coolness Halward and Dorian had both got used to in the south warmed, because they were marked as The Warden’s Friends, and therefore All Right, Really. They talked of the food, and the puppies, and how Glimmer was looking to get a puppy for Dog, who was only going to be around another few years.

Jaris was silent, concentrating on his food, picking at it, frowning to himself, before simply taking one of the small loaves on the table, and starting to eat it. He was on the second one when Glimmer noticed—Glimmer always noticed when someone was having difficulty eating. He didn’t say anything, it wouldn’t be prudent to embarrass Mews with the question. But there had been people at the Circle who had been the same. Genua had been so terribly sensitive to milk that she’d nearly died in infancy. Glimmer had never forgotten the horror he felt, at really thinking about that. No milk. No milk _ever_.

Everything had milk except for the bread, Glimmer realised. Everything was made with butter, or cheese, or had an Orlesian cream sauce. After dinner, he begged off having a nightcap (‘you know I don’t drink, my lord!’) and pulled Jaris aside.

‘Are you sensitive to milk?’ he asked. Jaris looked at him for a long moment.

‘You’ve had a no-milk friend before, haven’t you?’

‘I—yes. Fereldans eat a lot of milk.’

‘Course they do. It’s a good source of protein, and you’re herders, aren’t you? There’s a reason I don’t do so well in cold climates.’

‘I’ll write to Josephine—she’s our chatelaine.’

‘I appreciate it, thank you.’

‘It’s not a _favour_ ,’ Glimmer said, putting a hand on his arm. ‘You need to be able to _feed yourself_. That you can’t have milk, that’s not your fault.’

‘I’m happy to eat almost anything that isn’t milk or carrots.’

‘Are you sensitive to carrots too?’

‘No, I just hate them.’

‘…Reasonable. I hate turnips, personally.’

‘I have a question,’ Jaris said, ‘I um, I get this weird feeling like this place is _haunted as shit_.’

Glimmer looked deeply uncomfortable, for a moment then put on a smile and said. ‘There _was_ a demon here, ten years ago. I got rid of it.’

Jaris gave him a long look. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t—I don’t really have any opinions of my own on demons, or spirits, or whatever. But I know you’re lying, and you’re scared, and those two things generally mean people need to talk about it with somebody. Do you want to find somewhere private to talk?’

Glimmer thought on that on the paragraph in Mews’ letter, about counselling skills and healing hearts and minds. ‘I… yes. You won’t tell anyone?’

‘That would be unethical. Counsellors don’t tell anybody anything, unless they strongly feel the person would be a danger to themselves or others—and you’d have to be like, “I’m planning to kill people and here’s a detailed outline of my plan, which is going into effect tomorrow”, you know? Real specific like that.’

Glimmer nodded. ‘I wish we’d had someone like you in the Circle,’ he said, as he started to lead Jaris to a room he knew was quiet and small, and had no secret passages. It also happened to be up, and Glimmer started to climb up the wall into the rafters, wondering if and how Jaris would follow.

Jaris murmured something, and Glimmer felt the Fade ripple slightly, as it did when a spell was cast, and Jaris was following him—except he wasn’t looking for handholds, he was just climbing like a spider, without having turned into one. Glimmer settled in the crux of two rafters, and Jaris followed.

‘How did you do that?’

‘Spider-climb,’ Jaris said. ‘It’s a pretty old spell.’

Glimmer sat in silence a few moments, gathering his thoughts. ‘I don’t like killing demons,’ he said, softly. ‘They’re confused when they come here, and in pain. They don’t understand. It seems unfair. There was… there was a Desire demon, here, and it was the fault of a classmate of mine, and he was possessing a child, which must have been doubly distressing for him.’

‘As much as it was for the child, I imagine.’

‘Oh, of course, yes. I tried to save them both, but even afterward, the Arlessa didn’t want to send Connor to a circle to be taught. She was trying to deny his magic away, and I knew that would be dangerous, especially since he’d been possessed once already. But if a Circle found out he’d been possessed at all, they’d Tranquilise him.’

‘I’m sorry, they’d do what now?’

‘The Tranquil have their magic removed, but it changes them.’ Glimmer looked away. ‘It sort of makes them seem… soulless. They speak in a monotone, and don’t seem to have emotions. I say seem, because… I’m learning more about what happens, lately, and it’s not what it looks like on the outside.’

Jaris was inwardly retching in horror—Halward wasn’t kidding when he said mages were treated worse than the most abused slave, in the south—but he didn’t outwardly react, because it wasn’t about him, right now. It was about Glimmer. ‘You obviously have feelings about it.’

‘I used to hate it, but a lot of mages ask to be Tranquilised,’ Glimmer said. ‘Being able to be possessed at any time scares them, they don’t want to deal with it. Still, I… I don’t think that’s really a good solution to that fear. It seems like… maybe not making it so scary to be a mage would be better. We just get taught that being one is so scary, so awful, and that eventually we’ll all succumb to demons and possession and need to be killed. It’s not a good thing to teach people!’

‘No, it isn’t good to tell people they’re bad monsters and have no way of not being, that’s true,’ Jaris said.

‘Anyway, I… I didn’t kill the demon, I just told everyone I did. I asked him to go away, because if he didn’t stay away from here, someone else would come and kill him. I’ve been… trying to figure out where demons fit into the world. One of the other mages at Skyhold, Solas, is really knowledgeable about the Fade, but I have to take what he says sceptically, because it’s bad scholarship to trust a single source as objective.’

‘That’s true, it is best to have as many perspectives as possible.’

‘It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t horrified.’

Jaris gave a little bow of his head. ‘That’s what I’m here for.’

‘Isn’t it hard, keeping all those secrets? Hearing everyone’s sorrows?’

‘It is, but I know when to stop. I’m… uniquely positioned, here. I’m not emotionally invested in anything, I’m a foreigner, so I can achieve the distance needed to really be of help.’

‘Emotionally invested…’ Glimmer said.

‘Should I explain that?’

‘I can pick out the meaning, I think,’ Glimmer said. ‘You use words in ways nobody’s ever seen before, you know.’

‘I may have been told that before, yes,’ Jaris said, cracking a smile as he leaned back against the wall. Glimmer dangled a leg from the rafter, kicking thoughtfully.

‘Dorian’s father has been talking to you like this, hasn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ Jaris said. Glimmer nodded.

‘I guess that proves that it works, this peer counselling thing.’

‘It does, if you commit to it,’ Jaris said. ‘Getting better, mentally and emotionally, is work. Sometimes it gets worse before it gets better. But if you keep working, and trying every day, you get better eventually.’

‘Why would it get worse first?’

‘Think of it like a box you just threw a bunch of stuff in willy-nilly. You have to dump the box out on the floor, and make a bigger mess, before you can sort through all that stuff and put it away properly.’

Glimmer nodded. ‘Ohhh, right. You’ve spent so long putting books wherever that you have to take them _all_ out to reorganise the shelf.’

‘Exactly,’ Jaris said, happily. ‘That’s a great metaphor.’

Glimmer sat quietly for a while, looking down at the room below, which was empty, but had a fire going all the same. ‘After I’d proven to the desire demon that I could defeat him, he said he’d go away for a little while, but come back eventually. I couldn’t convince him otherwise, and I didn’t want to kill him. And I… he was so beautiful, and so sad. He offered me all this stuff, but I just wanted to give him an orgasm. I like giving orgasms, it helps me relax.’

Jaris just listened, quietly, waiting for Glimmer to go on. One of Glimmer’s knees was hugged to his chest, and his chin was resting on it, not looking at Jaris.

‘I didn’t know what else to do, and I… I didn’t care as much as I should have,’ Glimmer went on, rubbing his face against his knee in frustration. ‘I don’t know how to describe it, I just—there was so much suffering, so many people asking me to care, I just… I just ran out.’

‘It’s called compassion fatigue,’ Jaris said quietly. Glimmer looked at him, then, startled and wide-eyed.

‘You mean—it’s not that there’s anything _wrong_ with me?’

‘No,’ Jaris said, ‘not at all. Compassion fatigue is a real thing that affects people who help, people who see suffering a lot. Your heart can get exhausted, just like your body.’

Glimmer nodded. ‘And it’s worse when those people can’t really give you back anything, or you can’t make friends with them because you’re leaving after you’d done helping.’

‘Exactly,’ Jaris said with a nod. ‘It makes sense that you wanted to forge a connection, and valued someone who could offer you relief or pleasure, over someone who couldn’t. That’s perfectly normal.’

‘It’s not right, though,’ Glimmer said. ‘I should have made sure Connor was safe.’

Jaris shrugged. ‘You did the best you could with the resources you had. That’s all you _can_ do. You were, essentially, starving. If your basic needs aren’t met, you _can’t_ have morals. You’re not capable of being anything but desperate to fill those needs—safety, food, rest, touch… these are all foundational to the pyramid of needs. Compassion and service to your community are way at the top. You can’t build the top of the pyramid first.’

‘Hn,’ Glimmer said, hugging both his knees, now. ‘…You really don’t think I’m evil, for what I did?’

‘No,’ Jaris said. ‘I think you were tired, and hurting, and it says a lot that even in such a state, you still thought about the needs of someone so different from you. That says to me you have a lot of empathy, and a lot of sympathy, and a lot of altruism. Those are good things to have. Where is Connor now?’

‘He was at the circle, studying the Fade. He’s dead now—killed in the mage-templar war,’ Glimmer added, bitterly.

‘That is terrible, but it’s also not your fault.’

‘If I hadn’t insisted on lecturing them about how they needed to send him to the circle…!’

‘That was before the war, correct?’

‘Yes. Just after I’d set the circle to rights, and I _thought_ things were going to change for the better.’

‘Then you _thought_ you were sending him to a better circle than you had known. There’s nothing evil about that. You helped the best way you knew how.’

‘I… I suppose you’re right,’ Glimmer said, quietly. ‘I never thought of it that way… I was too busy feeling guilty, and not being able to think around it.’

‘That can happen. Guilt is very disruptive, and it must have been hard, to not feel you could even talk it out to anybody. Thank you for sharing with me.’

‘Thank you for listening. I feel better.’

‘Good. Now, um, please help me down.’

Glimmer smiled. ‘How do you feel about giant spiders?’

‘Turned on,’ Jaris said, with a grin. Glimmer laughed.

‘Oh, splendid!’ he said, and turned into one.

-

‘What did he _do_ to you?’

‘We just _talked,_ Dorian,’ Halward said, as they sat in the library together, sharing a bottle of the finest wine a Ferelden Arl could offer his guests. It wasn’t bad, but that was likely because Dorian had asked for cider, knowing well that southerners could _not_ grow adequate grapes for wine. ‘It was… a lot of talking.’

‘A lifetime’s worth?’

‘Jaris is very good at listening. He hears what isn’t said.’

‘A _mind-reader_ then, perhaps?’

‘No,’ Halward said, chuckling. ‘Nothing like that.’ He went quiet, looking at the fire for a time. ‘He comes from a place that seems to understand the mind better.’

‘You’ll have to explain to me how you reasoned to yourself that blood magic and imprisonment was _ever_ a good idea.’

‘It wasn’t,’ Halward said. ‘It never was. I was frightened, and I was in pain from something else, and I… I was so afraid to admit that…’ He sighed, setting his goblet down and leaning forward on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them, as he tried to order his thoughts. ‘Whatever the reasons, it was wrong,’ he said. ‘That is what matters. Not what I meant to do, but what I did do.’

There was silence for some time. ‘I never expected you to apologise,’ Dorian finally admitted. ‘Let alone that we’d see each other again. I’m afraid I don’t have a response.’

‘That’s valid,’ Halward said, with a gentle smile. ‘I’m just glad you’re allowing me the chance to see you again.’

Dorian was quiet for a long pause, drinking, and then said, quiet suddenly, ‘Well! This is all very serious, and I’m bored with it. Let’s talk about something else.’

‘I didn’t realise the rumours about the Hero of Ferelden were true.’

‘Which ones, precisely?’

‘About him being so small, and half his height being hair the colour of pinks.’

Dorian laughed.


	5. Wands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaris tries something impossible, and it works.

Jaris was quiet, as he sat by the fire, listening to everyone else talk, seemingly moving sticks around. He’d been collecting sticks, carrying them around, all day. They were not for the fire. He actually disappeared, and then came back with some glasspaper, frowning and sanding them here and there, picking one up and then another. Varric watched all of this, had been, for hours, trying to figure out what the hell the guy was doing. Clearly, he was trying to make some kind of decision about which stick was best; but for _what_. They were all about the same size, with only minimal variance between thickness; but that was it.

‘You building something, Mews?’ Halward finally asked.

‘Ish,’ Mews said, distractedly. He was favouring a piece of driftwood, holding it in his hands.

‘Ish?’ Dorian asked.

‘Concentrating, shut up,’ Jaris said, eyes closed as he wrapped his hands around the un-forked end of the stick, sitting on the ground. Slowly, he started to close his eyes tighter, and then opened them, pointing at a rock on the ground and swishing and flicking. ‘ _Wingardium Leviosa,’_ he murmured softly, and the rock lifted into the air. Jaris’ eyes widened, and he grinned, moving the rock around in a little circle, before setting it down, a little harshly, on the ground.

There was something of a silence, after this, mitigated only by the sounds of the crackling fire.

‘ _Wingardium Leviosa!’_ he said again, more confident in the swish-and-flick and the incantation both. The rock moved more strongly, more smoothly, and he flicked his wand, tossing it against the canyon wall, where it clattered down to the ground. And then Jaris screamed, which was a sound that the people who _hadn’t_ been in the tavern in Redcliffe Village had never heard. It always took some time to realise it was a laugh.

‘I can’t _wait_ to show you the spell to fight those dementors you’ve been talking about!’ Jaris said, then got to his feet. ‘Everyone get up, get up, we can do this right now! This’ll be fun, come on! Wands out!’

Glimmer was the first to get up, his staff in hand. Dorian followed, then the stray mages they always picked up on their way anywhere. Vivienne, smiling in amusement, finally got to her feet, as did Halward.

‘Come on, Solas,’ Glimmer said.

‘Yeah, come on, Solas,’ Jaris said. Solas raised a brow, and remained in his spot. Jaris stuck out his tongue at Solas, in reply, before turning to his class. ‘Okay. First things first: the incantation is “Expecto Patronum”.’

Most of the little mages repeated it back, used to class and probably relieved to be back in a familiar environment. Jaris got them all to repeat it, until he was sure everyone was pronouncing it properly.

‘Next step: I want you to reach in your brain, deep in your memory boxes, and find me the happiest memory you have. Not bittersweet, not tainted with perspective, just happy. As of right now, what is the happiest memory, one that, when you think of it, it brings a smile, or a sense of comfort, or a reason life is super great. Anything, doesn’t matter how small. Everyone got one?’

It took a while. It took a _while_ , and Jaris was patient.

‘What if you don’t have one?’ asked one of the mage elves with a torn ear.

‘What about meeting Glimmer?’ Jaris suggested.

‘Oh! It can be recent?’

‘Of course, I said _any_ memory.’

‘Okay, then, I’ll use that one,’ said the mage happily, smiling to herself.

‘Me too,’ said another boy, who put his hand down.

‘I’ve got mine,’ Glimmer said, glowing in a way that said his was about a lover.

‘Alright, so—and there’s a _high_ chance I’m gonna fuck this up.’ Jaris straightened, aimed well away from them, and summoned up the memory of moving that rock, and feeling the jolt of delight and magic. _‘Expecto Patronum!’_

A silvery shape erupted from his wand, in the shape of a beaver that swam through the air with grace nobody ever expected of them, circling Jaris, tethered by a silvery rope of light. Jaris screamed, bouncing on his toes and turning in a circle as he watched its progress, wand still out.

‘I did it! I did it!’ he said, to no one in particular, before trying to get a hold on himself. ‘Okay, so. A Patronus is what this is. It’s made of happy memories, and attacks Despair demons—we call them Dementors where I’m from—and instead of feeding on _you_ , the dementor chases the Patronus, because it looks like better prey. But your Patronus can only protect you as long as you stay _focussed_.’

Glimmer gave a loud gasp. ‘Oh _fuck_ me, that’s brilliantly simple.’

‘I want to try first!’ said the elf with the torn ear.

‘Okay,’ Jaris said, and she concentrated hard, then made a strong cast with her staff. She got a silvery shield, but no animal, and it dissipated. ‘Oh wow that was good! Who wants to go next?’

‘I’ll go,’ Glimmer said, and whirled his staff in a form Jaris had seen before, ‘ _Expecto Patronum!’_

He got a shield that _tried_ to be something else, but snapped back into a shield shape.

‘Why can’t we make an animal?’ asked one of the little ones, disappointed.

‘Oh! Doctor Mews has a _little_ staff! He can move it differently! It’s like a rapier and a greatsword,’ said one of the very youngest mages in the back. ‘My brother’s a fighter,’ she said proudly.

The smallest all immediately started looking for sticks. Jaris was the first to hand over his reject pile for picking through, and soon about half a dozen of them had sticks.

‘I wanna see the Hero do one!’ one of the Fereldan kids said, pushing a stick into Glimmer’s hand. The general consensus was rapidly that the young kids would rather watch the adults do really impressive magic. Glimmer smiled, and held out his wand with the same fencing pose Jaris had used. It was beautifully dramatic, and so flexible!

_‘Expecto Patronum!’_

A monstrous crow materialised almost instantly, as big as Glimmer and lighting the clearing like was noon, not full dark with no moon. Glimmer’s face showed why—he was beaming and happy, laughing as the crow flew into the dark sky, bright against the velvet sky through the trees, and dove, soaring around them. Jaris felt it brush against him—it was huge, there was no way for it not to—and where it touched, he felt not just pleasure, but uplifting feelings of hope and happiness, rising endorphins. That was what a Patronus was, he supposed—pure endorphins, magically delive—fuck off, Jaris, when did you stop _believing_ in magic? This was happiness, _happiness_. This was Glimmer sharing all the happiness in this memory. Crows… Jaris wondered on that. He’d always loved crows, they were omnipresent in the part of California where he’d grown up, more common than any other bird. You could hear them, and the call of crows still reminded him of childhood afternoons of doing Nothing.

 ‘Spectacular!’ Jaris said, laughing. ‘Now you, Pavus, come on.’

‘He means me,’ Halward said, and held out his hand, without staff nor wand, and concentrated on the moment he’d first seen Dorian smile. ‘ _Expecto Patronum.’_

The creature that leapt from the ribbons of silvery light sprung and leapt and swam just like the strange animal that had been Jaris’ patronus, and the form it took was that of a creature as alien. It had the head of a bird, but the flippers of a fish.

Jaris seemed to recognise it, from the way his eyes lit up. ‘Oh! An emperor penguin! That’s wonderful!’

Dorian stepped forward. ‘My turn.’ He did something complicated and dramatic with his gestures, but ended in the same pose Jaris had used—his Patronus was a beautiful peacock, which looked more breathtaking doing the flying and swooping it was doing, than if it had been on the ground displaying, in Jaris’ opinion.

‘Oh, _Dorian,’_ Halward said, proudly. ‘Well _done_ , my boy.’

‘Do you wanna try, Lady Vivienne?’ Jaris asked.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I suppose I must,’ but her gaze had flicked over to the students, and their eager faces, and she showed no reluctance as she smiled, and cast her own Patronus with quiet confidence. It was another exotic creature, a rather large, rectangular animal with a sleepy sort of dignity to its face, that moved like it wasn’t sure if it wanted to swim or walk. Jaris’ laugh was knowing.

‘What is it?’ asked Glimmer.

‘A capybara,’ Jaris said, and turned his attention to Solas, who had been watching them, but remained seated by the fire. ‘I don’t suppose you want to try, Solas?’

‘I am curious to know where you learned such magic.’

‘Out of a book,’ Jaris hedged, ‘isn’t that where people learn magic?’

-

They travelled on, and the warrior-mages got a chance to test their Patronuses on the Despair demons. They worked as a shield against the despair as well as the cold, which the mages all found fascinating. They wanted to know more spells from Jaris, but Jaris himself avoided combat. He did, however, find locks to be irrelevant, hesitant to teach them that spell due to the horrible advantage it could be for a mage to be able to get into any lock, to muggles.

‘What’s a muggle?’

‘Someone who doesn’t have magic,’ Jaris said.

‘Ah! We call them “Soporati”,’ Dorian said.

Jaris shrugged. ‘Muggle is more apt down South, where mages are a minority group. I wouldn’t call a soporati a muggle, and “soporati” isn’t a good word outside of Tevinter, given the cultural connotations are reversed, outside of Tevinter. …To the best of my knowledge,’ Jaris added. ‘I don’t actually know what Rivain and Antiva are like, nobody seems to have a lot of books from there.’

‘I have books about Antiva,’ Halward said. ‘I saw you reading them.’

‘But they’re not _by_ Antivans, so they only tell me what non-Antivans think of Antiva.’

‘It’s easier to be a mage, in Antiva,’ Glimmer piped up. ‘It’s seen as just something some people can do. They don’t have Templars there, they have a Watch, and there are mages in it as well as muggles. I miss it,’ he said, a thread of anger in his voice. Anger at being stuck here, saving the world again. He put a hand on Dog as she walked beside him. ‘When I’m done, I’m going back there.’

‘Are you so sure you’ll survive?’ Solas asked.

‘I survived the end of the world once, I know how this story goes,’ Glimmer said, tossing his head and giving a carefree smile. ‘Besides, how can I die when I don’t believe in any gods? Who would even come to take me?’ He laughed, and that, it was clear, was the end of _that_ conversation.


	6. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaris gets to Skyhold.

Even though Gatsi had said there was only so much they could do, it seemed that Jaris knew how to truly _fix_ Skyhold—including the parts that had collapsed. The undercroft, when he was shown, made him _cringe_ , and make a face.

‘Oh _fuck,_ this whole thing is just a fucking house of cards the minute you guys get an earthquake, this is _bad._ Okay,’ he said, tilting his head. ‘We don’t have plans, so… let’s see, I want to go over the specs your guys have figured out, and see if we can close that wall.’

‘There’s nothing to anchor it with, but I saw your floating bridge and I thought maybe we could use some of that. We just need to find steel that strong. There’s some we could get, if Orzammar would trade with us. And if we had the money.’

Jaris grinned. ‘I have a friend with money,’ he said, snapping a photo of the undercroft with his phone (his phone had been invaluable in making all of his plans, as he didn’t have a photographic memory), ‘several of them.’

-

Jaris, Jaris learned when he came into the tavern, was not the first transman in the Inquisition.

He didn’t normally frequent bars, but a tavern wasn’t quite the same as a bar, and he could talk to a lot more people about a lot more problems, here. He needed to establish his reputation among everyone, not just the leadership group, and the refugees came in here, and he wanted to solve the growing housing problem.

He did what he always did, and passively attracted attention by taking over a table and getting out his phone, setting the solar charger in a patch of sunlight, before starting to get out and organise his notes from that morning with Gatsi. They’d gone over a lot with the masons and foremen, and Jaris had learned a lot about how Dwarva did things, built things. They’d been able to study Jaris’ way of communicating plans and information, and had a lot of questions for how to _achieve_ the light and airy structures he drew and planned. Building materials of the kind Jaris needed, and knew about, were largely unknown and unused. But concrete and lathe-and-plaster for walls, tar-sheets and corrugated steel for rooves, were not difficult to utilise with the available materials they had. That was the beauty of them—they were cheap, much cheaper than stone, and could actually be comparably sturdy, despite that.

Jaris always kept alert, though it had gotten less hair-trigger with time and practise, for voices. Tones, especially. Anger used to panic him, even when it wasn’t noticing him—but now, he merely put a mental sticky-flag on it and moved on. Large people he only glanced at, assessed quickly for danger, and then put a mental sticky-flag of a different colour. Thinking of his attention the way he thought of his study habits helped enormously with his anxiety.

Large and _horned_ , however, and he very carefully observed; he’d never really seen a Qunari in person before, but the huge one that came in accompanied by a whole group of clanking warriors was unmistakeably a Qunari. Minotaur-like was Jaris’ first impression, though he dismissed the notion quickly; the only reason for caution was the truths of how Qunari treated mages—worse than the south—and the conversion-fever that nevertheless sounded like some kind of corrupt version of a philosophy that Jaris found useful and calming.

Still, eavesdropping a little, for safety, Jaris only heard gentle words and friendship, and so went back to his work.

-

‘Krem, who’s the Vint in the corner?’

‘That’s not a Vint, Chief,’ Krem said. ‘I think that’s Jaris Mews. Heard of him?’

‘Oh yeah, the guy who designed a new Chantry.’ Bull eyed him. ‘He spooked when we came in. Good at hiding it.’

‘Yeah.’

They watched the server come up to him. He didn’t size her up, he didn’t talk to her like she was something on his shoe. He smiled at her, and made her laugh, and complimented the handmade necklace she was wearing, that Bull knew she’d gotten from her girlfriend as a gift.

-

‘Magda made this for me, during the journey from Haven.’

‘The colour theory and balance are really good, I want to meet Magda, we need more designers.’

Andrabel brightened, looking over all the papers. ‘Really? But she’s not a mage…’

‘Magic isn’t what I’m talking about. I’m a builder. See all these drawings? Come really look at them, it’s all right.’

She edged over, and did so, realising they weren’t magical sigils, they were _buildings_ —houses, even, little ones that looked strange and simple and oddly inviting. Clean. ‘I like the houses. What plants are these?’

‘Oh, those are palms.’

‘Oh, is that what they look like. I never knew. And they’re really trees?’

‘They’re grasses attempting to do “tree”, actually.’

She laughed. ‘No! Are you serious?’

‘Yep,’ Jaris said. ‘Did you get sent over here because I haven’t ordered anything?’ he asked.

‘Well, we wanted to know if you wanted anything—if you don’t drink ale, we have some cider of course, and there’s stew with bread and cheese if you’re hungry.’

‘I’ll have some hot water, it’s a little chilly.’

‘No mulled cider? We have a pot going.’

‘I don’t drink anything but water,’ Jaris said simply. ‘It’s fine, really. I’ll pay for it.’

‘Oh, how silly! Of course you won’t pay for _water_!’

Jaris laughed, but she didn’t know why. ‘Bless Thedas,’ he muttered, shaking his head and smiling. ‘All right, well, thank you—what are you called?’

‘Andrabel. I know there’s about six Andrabels running around. People usually call me Andrabel-who-works-at-the-tavern.’

‘Or Tavern-Andrabel?’ Jaris said, raising a brow.

‘Oh, I like that one, it’s shorter. I’ll be right back with your water!’

Jaris went back to work, smiling to himself. He moved things around, looking for his map of the area that Glimmer had given him a copy of. He started looking it over, comparing it with his notes on housing. One of the things that would be essential to house everyone would be apartments, and those were something that had to be carefully built, because even three stories was iffy, in Thedas. Gatsi and the other dwarves had looked at his drawing of a twelve-story apartment building with incredulity, and had said flat-out that there was no way to build something the size of the Chrysler Building.

-

‘Hey, Andrabel,’ Krem said as she passed by.

‘Hey yourself,’ she said, not falling for his flirting.

‘What about him?’ Krem said, nodding in Mews’ direction.

‘He thinks Magda should help him _design things_! All because he liked the necklace she made me!’

-

‘What are you drawing?’ asked a little elfling. Jaris wasn’t sure how old she was.

‘I’m drawing houses, and places to live,’ Jaris said, tilting his sketchbook to show her. ‘Look with your eyes, not your hands,’ he said, when she started to reach for it. She put her hands behind her back.

‘It’s a map!’

‘It’s a map of a house,’ Jaris said. ‘See, here’s the kitchen, and here’s a bedroom…’ He flipped the page. ‘And here’s what it looks like on the outside.’

She frowned, and looked at him, and then leaned in close. ‘The roof is upside-down,’ she whispered, with the air of someone trying to be polite about a social gaff. Jaris wanted to laugh, but didn’t.

‘Yes it is, it’s supposed to look like that,’ Jaris whispered back. ‘We call it a butterfly roof, isn’t that a fun name?’

‘I like it. It’s probably for rich people, though. Not elves.’

‘Oh no, I don’t like to design houses for rich people,’ Jaris said, because it was true—he much preferred small houses. Sensible sizes of house for the number of people in them. ‘That’s boring. I’m Jaris, what are you called?’

‘Tara.’

‘Do you like to build things, Tara?’

‘Sometimes,’ Tara said. ‘I like to listen to grown people talking, mostly. Why are rich people houses boring?’

‘I like to build houses people _live_ in, not houses for showing off with. Rich people just show off with their houses, they don’t really _live_ in them. I much prefer poor people houses. They need to be _sensible_ and _work_.’

‘Oh,’ Tara said, and was quiet for a little bit, just looking at everything with her big eyes. Jaris showed her a little more of his sketchbook, then got an idea.

‘Tara,’ he said, flipping back to the first house. ‘Do you _like_ this house? Would you like to live in a house that looks like this?’

‘Um,’ she said, ‘I guess so, if the roof is like a big butterfly I guess it would be nice.’

Jaris was sketching. ‘Tell me about your family, Tara,’ he asked, starting with a kitchen and a modified bathroom—he already had explained the u-bend and sewer systems to the Dwarrows Maeveris (who he had taken to calling Maev, which delighted her) had introduced him to back in Qarinus, but Ferelden just didn’t have the infrastructure for a sewer system right now—because that was the central need of a household. The rest was determined by usage.

He listened as she told him about her father, and her five sisters, and her nieces and nephews (she was very proud of having those). Jaris waited until he was sure of a population count before starting to organise notes, asking questions about each one, about their needs and interests, about what sorts of things they might like to do in a house that was big enough for all of them.

She started to figure out what he was doing pretty quickly; Jaris expected her to make suggestions, but she just watched him.

‘Is that one for Ella?’ she asked, pointing at one of the bedrooms.

‘I guess Ella will have to decide that.’

‘What’s that thing?’

‘That’s how we draw trees from above.’ He leaned over, pulling a scrap piece, checking the other side just in case, before deciding he didn’t mind. ‘Here,’ He did a light circle, and showed her the way to do the circular scribble of a palm for a few strokes, before handing her one of his yellow pencils—not the fancier one in his hand, but the spare ones he kept in his pencil case for other purposes. ‘You try.’

She took the pencil reverently, and watched how he held his pencil for a while, before trying, herself, much more carefully than he’d expected.

‘You make it look really easy, but I know that’s because you practise a lot.’

‘That is true, but don’t worry—I started off doing it slowly and carefully, just like you are right now.’

‘Tara!’

Jaris looked up, seeing an elf woman with Tara’s ear-shape and -length come over, looking worried.

‘Tara, you’re too little to come in here—I’m so sorry, ser, she’s only six, she doesn’t mean to bother you—’

‘What do you think?’ Jaris said, finding it was always best to reassure through distraction. He showed her the half-finished sketch. ‘Tara’s been helping me do a consult. Can you read a map?’

‘I… yes,’ she said. Jaris waved to the chair on his other side.

‘Sit down, sit down, I’m glad you’re here. I’m Jaris Mews, and you are?’

‘Ella,’ she said, confused but at least sitting down. ‘What… is all this?’ she asked, looking over the papers.

‘This is where homes are born,’ Jaris said cheerfully. ‘Tara’s inspired me to build you a house.’

‘With a butterfly roof!’ Tara added.

‘Yes,’ Jaris said, laughing as he flipped back to the original house he’d shown Tara. ‘With a butterfly roof.’

‘We… why do you want to build us a house?’

‘You need one,’ Jaris said.

‘Lots of people need one.’

‘I can only build one house at a time,’ Jaris said. ‘Somebody has to be the first one, where I show our builders how to do my style.’

‘But… where will we have it? Not here, surely? How will the snow fall off the roof?’

‘Well, if you wanted to have it up here, it would have to be more of a broken-shed roof, that’s true,’ Jaris said. ‘Or maybe a full A-frame…’ he murmured, thoughtfully. ‘But for something like the Storm Coast, or the Hinterlands, this is just fine.’

‘You… you’re really serious? We can’t pay you.’

‘I build houses for people because I _like_ to, not because they _pay_ me. Now, how about your family meets me after dinner and we discuss this further? I need to know how you would use a house, what you need it to _do_.’

‘Houses… do things?’

‘Yes,’ Jaris said, with a fierce smile. ‘They do.’

-

The house was designed by the family, Jaris facilitating—Gatsi wasn’t sure how the man managed to do that, design-by-committee was always a nightmare, but he’d managed. They’d found a site thanks to the Inquisitor’s wandering, and Jaris actually trekked out there to see it, along with the builders and masons, who were all the kind of cynically enthusiastic dwarva were when it came to new things humans wanted to do.

Jaris confessed he hadn’t helped _build_ a house in years, but remembered how to frame, and the house, with a lot more slowness due to it all being a learning process, went up. Long and what Jaris called split-level, it had pseudo-wings despite being relatively small, and made use of the uneven landscape, and the natural formation of the foothills and boulders. There was a central courtyard, built around an old-growth tree, and the well was indoors, the path to the outhouse sheltered by an over-long eave of roof. For being made of triangles and asymmetrical quadrangles, it blended surprisingly harmoniously with the landscape—something any dwarf could respect.

The windows were all double-glazed, which Dagna had been happy to figure out how to do, and the amount of light inside was astonishing, especially given that Jaris took advantage of the glazed windows and put some _on the roof_ , which really looked like half of a roof, and was made of strips of tar, which gave it a very smooth appearance, much like the stucco.

It took months, but they weren’t on a schedule, it was more of an experiment, and a learning experience, than anything. Jaris integrated and adapted to how the dwarva communicated, and took extensive notes on their opinions, eager to see how they drew plans, and just as eager to show them how he did his.

When they showed it to the elf family, there was a lot of crying. They were city elves, had made pilgrimage to Skyhold because there were still tales that circulated about the Warden, about what he had done, and they had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. This house was definitely the everything. The Warden had not been able to accompany them himself, but he had sent the Chargers to escort them, and the Chargers were just as in awe of the house. They were all invited to come in for dinner, and there was room enough for the Chargers and Jaris, and the builders as well. The long table Jaris had built himself was soon covered, and Jaris found himself seated across from Krem. Because it was so warm, Jaris had gotten frustrated and excused himself some ways away, to take off his final layer, which rather showcased the fact that he had a precise scar across his chest, and no nipples. It was a very old scar, he’d gotten it ten years ago, but it was still quite visible, along with the tattoo beneath his collarbones, the word ‘Theomorphic’ in his own Architect’s Block writing.

‘What’s that mean?’ asked Tara, staring. ‘The word on your chest.’

‘In the shape of a god,’ Jaris answered. He raised a brow at Krem, who had been staring a little, while trying not to. In that moment, Jaris realised, and added. ‘I got it after my surgery.’

‘What’d you get surgery for? Was something wrong with your insides?’

‘No,’ Jaris said, because he didn’t believe in dysphoria anymore, and didn’t want to raise any more children to hate their bodies. ‘I just wanted to change shape. People do that sometimes. Gods do that sometimes, which is why I put that word on my skin. I felt ugly after my surgery, people would say mean things about my scar. So I had a tattoo artist put that word on my skin, to remind me that I wasn’t ugly.’

Tara took this all in for a moment or two. Krem took it in for longer.

‘People change shape sometimes,’ he repeated flatly. ‘What, on a whim?’

‘Oh no, no, I was under the knife for a good few hours, you don’t do that on a whim,’ Jaris said. ‘But people sometimes change shape. We call it being trans.’

‘And it’s normal.’

‘ _I_ think it’s normal,’ Jaris said, calmly. ‘My religion says it’s normal,’ he added, because it was true. ‘We have gods that do it, perhaps more often than _we_ can; but then again, they are gods.’

‘You don’t sing the Chant?’ Andra was curious about that. ‘But… even Tevinters sing the Chant.’

‘I’d never heard of it before coming here. I’m not from here. I worship my own gods.’

‘Which ones change shape?’

‘Well,’ Jaris said, feeling slightly awkward, but overcoming it because a child had asked him a question. ‘Loki changes shape as they please, and often takes a shape that can bear children or goes by “she”. Hermaphroditos was born and everyone thought he was a she, but then he grew up, and became a man, and changed his shape to reflect what he wanted to look like. I did that too,’ Jaris added. ‘That’s why he came to me, and adopted me for his own.’

‘Do you have a chant?’ Anais asked. She was two years older than Tara.

‘Mmm, no. We have stories, and I make little sacrifices.’

‘Like blood?’

‘Like food,’ Jaris said, chuckling.

‘Speaking of food, how about you eat yours, girls?’ said their father, anxious about where the conversation might go, if he didn’t shift their attention.

-

Jaris was sitting by the fire, sketchbook on his lap as he worked on a personal project, when he saw the other trans man come sit next to him, on his right, so that he wouldn’t jostle Jaris’ hand.

‘What’s your name, son?’ Jaris asked, because it just felt right to say something like that.

‘Cremesius Aclassi. I’m the Lieutenant of the Chargers.’

‘Jaris Mews. So,’ he said, ‘You have questions.’

‘When did you know?’

‘I was in college, and took a class on gender studies, and someone explained transgender to me while including trans _men_ and _non-binary_ trans folks. That’s when I realised I wasn’t just an ugly girl with a condition, I was a non-binary transman with a condition.’

‘A condition?’

‘I’m intersex, like Hermaphroditos. My body’s gender chemicals and organs are… in between. And that makes me unhealthy in some ways. My body is trying to be like a god’s, because the gods granted me that blessing; but I’m only mortal, and my body can’t contain that kind of power. That’s how I think of it.’

Krem sat with that a while. ‘What if your body isn’t in between?’

‘How old are you?’

‘Thirty.’

‘Then you’re a grown-ass man; you can figure out for yourself what the gods meant by making you how you are.’ Jaris said sternly. ‘Don’t _ever_ ask other people to define you, don’t give them that power.’

Krem was taken aback, almost offended and hurt, before the words penetrated. _You’re a grown-ass man_. He smiled, at that. ‘The gods made me this way.’

‘The gods don’t make mistakes,’ Jaris said, still that stern, matter-of-fact tone. He went back to sketching, and was glad when Krem didn’t speak to him further, and eventually got to his feet.

‘Thank you,’ Krem said, and huffed a silent little laugh as Jaris only grunted, still drawing, frowning to himself. But he frowned most of the time. Krem knew his kind—usually, men like that were old soldiers, not architects. But then again… dwarves tended to be like that no matter _what_ they did. And dwarves were often builders.

‘You find out what you needed, Krem?’ Bull asked, as Krem sat back down with the Chargers.

‘Yeah,’ Krem said, thoughtfully, watching the architect across the room.

‘Good,’ Bull said, seeing Krem look more relaxed than he’d ever seen. ‘If you need to talk, I’m here.’

‘Thanks, Chief.’

-

_Dearest Carmine,_

_Built my first house for an elf family; used the funds you allocated for me, thank you for them. Modelled it on Falling Water, as you can see. Skyhold needs extensive structural repairs, I can give you an itemised list if you have questions about where the money is going. Attached is my initial assessment, with information from the foremen and the masons, and our joint estimate of cost to build._

_Tethras seems enthusiastic about a postal service, and Inq. Glimmer knows Fereldan Crown would be interested in same. Has written a letter to Crown arguing for it. Postal Service might be a good idea to put before the Magm. now. Would require mass cataloguing and mapping project, which I know everyone has been doing lately. Mapping proj. out here is crowd-sourced, very effective. There’s also guard towers, which gives me an idea for a faster form of communication than letters._

_Still thinking about what you said re: the estate in Antiva to play with. Have some ideas, getting p. excited about the idea. Miss the weather up there, esp the sunshine hours. Getting that bad old seasonal depression down here with all the darkness and cloudy weather. At least there’s the kind of trees I like, and good mountains (good solid bedrock). People here are kind, I like them._

_The Pavus boys have mended fences, and I’ve already done some peer counselling with various people, who seem to be spreading the word that I can do that. Might put together a sexual education class for the humans, because I have heard some ridiculous bullshit lately, it’s fairly horrifying; but I may just write a pamphlet and see if Tethras can connect me to a publisher, because I’m too busy to add something like a class to my plate._

_Sincerely,_

_Mews_

-

_Dearest Mews,_

_Seeing a practical demonstration of your design was what the Collective needed to understand just what you do and how well you do it—the site would have been unsuitable for any other builder, yet you simply built around and under and against, rather than levelling the space beforehand. It’s masterful work, and you did it so quickly and with so few resources! I can now more completely imagine what you would do in Qarinus—or any city. Truly, your prowess is stunning, and has done much to get a few of the undecided on our side. Do keep recording these Before And After drawings, they’re quite effective in their powers of persuasion. _

_A reliable and dedicated service for delivering messages is a grand idea, and you’re right—it solves an immediate problem. I daresay it also creates many situations for those without regular occupation. Maps are hardly needed if one simply uses individuals that know the area. I know you spoke of an intricately catalogued system in your own place of origin, but numbering houses and assigning numbers to whole neighbourhoods seems overly complex when a simpler solution would do. I’ve already put the first steps into motion among those most knowledgeable of the streets of Qarinus. Do tell me about this faster communication system, I am all curiosity._

_I have sent you one of the fruits you said reminded you of an Orange, in a pot that should keep it growing. I know sunlight is in short supply, but I’ve enchanted the pot to magnify what little light it can get, and keep it from frost. Keep it sheltered from wind and outright snow and it should fruit come spring. I have also sent a few other luxuries from the north that might keep you—how did you put it?—in a sunshine state of mind. The estate in Antiva is still yours if you desire it._

_I miss your peer counselling, as does Lady Tilani; I believe if you began writing, it would be well-received. I have connexions in publishing, myself. Certainly your ideas on more advanced techniques would be something my publisher connexions would have interest in putting to print; Mr Tethras, alas, never quite goes far enough, in his love stories, for their sort of book. Do come home soon, and I remain,_

_Sincerely,_

_Carmine_

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to talk to me more, or just hang out and see me talking to other folks, come and see me on [my discord server](https://discord.gg/uVJR3ad)!


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